Outdoor Reading & Reviewing Books in Sunny Jacksonville, Florida

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Valentine’s Day and Chick Lit–they go together like . . . well . . . hearts and flowers! And that’s why Chick Lit Chat HQ is throwing the Hearts & Flowers Hop on Facebook to celebrate the most romantic of time of the year. From Monday, February 11th through Sunday, February 17th, we’re going all out with (virtual) chocolate and (BYO) champagne, along with lots of luuuuuurrrve–and you can join in the fun at Cupid Central a.k.a. our Facebook events page.

We’ve got 40+ Chick Lit and Romantic Comedy authors giving away all kinds of LOVEly gifts*, including books, swag, gift cards, and Valentine’s-themed goodies. Plus, as usual, we’ll be handing out one whopper of a Grand Prize* on the hop page–a sterling silver Elsa Peretti Open Heart Pendant from Tiffany’s that comes in one of those iconic blue boxes every woman dreams of receiving! But that’s not all, there will also be THREE Runner-Up Prizes* of beautiful, colorful, Fun Size Burlap Wrapped Bouquets from Farmgirl Flowers. What’s not to love? Come party with us, meet some of your favorite authors, and discover some new ones to add to your must-read list!

*The Grand
& Runner-Up Prize giveaways are open to US residents only. However, all of the individual
author giveaways are open internationally.

After a traumatic attack, Jasmine Chance recovers from a coma and decides to take on the life she’s always longed for in Paris. While there she encounters a man from her past, causing her to re-evaluate what she truly desires.

As the love of her life, Andrew Rodd, is fighting for their relationship, his company is threatened, forcing him to choose between struggling to make things work with Jasmine and staying in Atlanta to uphold his business.

Will Jasmine find the balance between her passions, companionship, and the future of her business? Will Drew choose to maintain order in his company and remain loyal to his best friend or finally win the love of his life? Only time can tell if this will be their last chance.

“He’s a nice guy, his name is Andrew Rodd.” The door pushes open, and Drew appears. I walk to his side and he moves closer to the woman that helped raise me. He’s holding a hanging wisteria floral arrangement.

“Grandmother, this is Andrew. I call him Drew.”

He smiles and takes over the greeting. “Hello, Grandmother Carrie.”

Wow, he is claiming her title as if she is his grandmother. She is grinning. “Andrew, are those flowers for me?”

It’s her favorite flower and color.

“Yes, ma’am.” He is a breath of fresh air in her presence. I worried too much about these two meeting. My grandmother is upright, studying Drew.

He grins. “Yes, ma’am, she did. It’s a flower as full of mystery and beauty as you are.”

“Jasmine, this young man knows about flowers.” She has a smile full of delight growing on her face. “Find a place by the window to set them and you have a seat and stay a week.” The room fills with laughter as the fear of disappointing her rules diminishes.

“Where are you from, young man? It doesn’t sound like my baby girl found you in Paris? You sound like you have done traveling, but not too far off from around my parts? Where are your people from?”

Drew sits in the chair next to me. “I was born and raised in Dallas, Texas, my parents still live here.”

She smacks her lips. “Is that right?”

He smiles looking in my direction. “I met your baby girl in Atlanta.” I believe he is enjoying calling me baby girl the way he emphasizes it.

“Is that right?” Her eyes drift to the top of her head and turns back with a stern eye in my direction. Oh, no this might not be a good remark.

“This is not that guy from high school… hmm? I told my girl not to get involved too fast. Chantal told me everything about that boy. I never met him in person.”

My grandmother is fiddling with her hand. She talks as if I am not present, gaining Drew’s attention. “No, Jasmine didn’t bring him around me. But it seems like he must not have had a tight grip on her heart seeing you are here with her instead of the other.”

I drop my head in my hand and Drew grips my leg. “Perhaps, he was only there to keep her company until she met me.”

Her eyebrows rise. “Andrew, you sound confident over there and I see you touching my granddaughter’s knee.”

Author Bio:

J. Bliss Influenced by, Maya Angelo, Terry McMillan, and her own mother’s prestigious writing, J. Bliss began writing stimulating poetry at the age of thirteen. She dreamt of being an author and never gave up on the passion deep to write that she held within herself.

Her first novel originated from a past radio talk show she was the host of, based on many callers that spoke about having marital problems, most of which stemmed from a lack of intimacy. Drawing from her own experiences and struggles, she felt compelled to write Lovers of Convenience leading to Not by Chance.

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The Bet Between Us Brandon Moore
Publication date: February 5th 2019
Genres: Romance, Young Adult

Donald Cerlino only cares about three things: money, getting girls, and gambling. His friends are so impressed with his abilities with women, they start calling him Don Juan. When senior year starts, he’s got a list of girls he wants to add to the growing number of notches on his headboard. So when his best friend, Thomas, bets Donald that his skills aren’t enough to nab the school valedictorian, Alaina Pizzo, Donald is up for the challenge. What Thomas doesn’t know is that Donald has had a crush on Alaina since kindergarten. Problem is, Alaina hates his guts.

When Donald’s feelings for Alaina start to show, Thomas begins to turn against him. Thomas wanted Donald to see the error of his ways when it comes to women, not abandon their friendship for yet another girl. The deeper Donald gets, the more he wants a future with Alaina, but that means revealing why he started talking to her in the first place. When Thomas starts threatening to tell Alaina the truth, Donald has to decide if he wants to lose the love of his life or his best friend.

Donald realizes he took a bet he can’t win. The great Don Juan may lose everything.

Brandon was born in Bridgeton, NJ in 1991. He started writing in the first grade when his teacher gave him an assignment to write a story that had to do with Halloween. He chose to write a story about werewolves and the rest is history. Since then he’s written poetry, lyrics to quite a few songs, a ton of reviews on music, movies, video games, etc. He currently resides in Carney’s Point, New Jersey, with his wife and cat.

Abby Tyler welcomes you to the witty, well-meaning busybodies of Applebottom, Missouri, where the community takes its pies — and its matchmaking — very seriously.

When Sandy Miller emerges from her shack on the edge of town after eighteen years, she finds a job making tea cakes for a little shop on Town Square.

But then everyone starts spotting secret words of love and longing on her cakes.

Andrew McCallister is the first to admit that he never got over Sandy Miller when she dropped out of high school and disappeared. But now she’s back.

He just has to get the guts to talk to her.

When the town summons the pair to a meeting to plan the school’s centennial bash, Andrew and Sandy discover they are the only two members of the committee. As they attempt to rekindle the long-lost flame, they realize the community must come together for more than an anniversary party. For their new relationship to flourish, the old guard must learn to support their most vulnerable members even when times get hard.

Abby Tyler loves puppy dogs, pie, and small towns (she grew up in one!) Her Applebottom Matchmaker Society books combine the sweet and wholesome style of romance she loves with the funny, sometimes a-little-too-truthful characters she remembers from growing up in a place where everyone knew everybody’s business.

If the redhead leans any further across the bar, her tits are bound to pop out of her shirt. I’ve been bartending long enough to know that’s exactly what she wants, along with a free drink and a quickie in the backroom. While I’ll probably take her up on the sex at some point before the sun rises, my shift doesn’t end for another two hours and the Black Oak is packed.

She waves a manicured hand in the air to get my attention like my eyes haven’t been plastered to her chest this entire time. We both know where my mind has gone as I poured everyone else’s round.

“What can I get you, sweetheart?” I shoot her the same crooked grin that gets me a jar full of tips and phone numbers every night.

Red straightens and lets her green eyes rake down my front like I’ve been doing to her tiny frame since she strutted up to the bar. From up close, I realize her hair isn’t natural. Shame. I have a thing for redheads.

“What do you recommend?” she purrs.

The smart thing to do is let her have more time to decide, because the line hasn’t subsided since rush hour started. College kids from Oakland University are here to get screwed up and make stupid choices, and they’re not patient about it since they just got back from Thanksgiving break where they pretended to be good little kids for Mommy and Daddy.

But nobody said I’m smart.

“Depends on what you like.” Leaning my elbows on the edge of the bar, I prop my chin on the back of my hands. She doesn’t seem like a beer type of girl. I’d guess martini or one of those shitty fruity drinks that I spend half my shift making.

She bats her overdone lashes at me. “What if what I like isn’t alcohol right now?”

Someone from behind her yells, “Then move out of the fucking way,” and gets a reaction from at least three other people that makes me chuckle.

Her full lips pull into a tight scowl as she glances over her shoulder.

“They’re right,” I say, shrugging.

The green eyes once narrowed at the other patrons shoot back to me. “What?”

I gesture to my side of the counter. “Do you see any other help right now? Even if I wanted to fuck you in the stock room, I’ve got nobody to cover me.”

Her lips part at my bluntness. Guess my reputation for being an asshole didn’t make its way to her like the one about me being easy.

I grin. “So, alcohol?”

The lust drains from her hopeful eyes once she realizes I won’t be peeling that tight dress off her. I’m ninety-nine percent sure she’s not wearing panties under it, since it clings to her hips without showing any sign of the scrap.

Her throat clears. “I guess my table will just have tequila shots. Five of them.”

My eyes wander over to the back corner where she sauntered from. There were only four of them when they came in, all dressed to impress in skimpy dresses and knee-high boots that demands most of the male attention.

There’s now a fifth girl with her back to me laughing at something the others say. My eyes narrow on her short blonde hair that stops just above her shoulders. It’s not straight or slicked with products like the others seem to be, and she’s not dressed up like them either. Her tight jeans cling to her long legs, flared hips, and perky ass, and the coat she’s still wearing makes me wonder if she’s sticking around.

When she turns her head to glance over at the bar for her friend, I suck in a sharp breath.

“Emily?”

Red’s brows pinch. “Who the hell is Emily?”

Her bitter tone makes me want to roll my eyes, but I’m too stuck on the blast from the past to pay her attitude any attention. It’s hard to find similarities between her and my not-so-distant memory from this far away. It could be Emily, but the lighting in here sucks. After how she left almost eight months ago, it wouldn’t surprise me if we both found ourselves in a new town while still avoiding each other.

My chin tips toward her table. “Who’s the girl that joined you?”

Busying myself with the shots so she doesn’t get pissy (well, more pissed than she already is for turning her down and asking about her friend), I glance up to see the blonde already focused back on their group.

Red crosses her arms over her chest, which is probably for the best. It may be warm in here with all the bodies crammed together, but it’d be a shame if they caught frostbite when she steps outside since none of them felt jackets were necessary in twenty-degree weather.

“Why do you want to know about Sam?”

Sam. Not Emily.

Tension rolls off my shoulders as I place the shot glasses onto a tray. “Just curious.”

She produces the money from some unknown part of her body that I don’t care about so long as it’s in my hand. Passing her the change, I let myself shoot one last look at the blonde. She’s a good couple inches taller than the girls she stands beside and she’s not even wearing heels. Normally, tall chicks don’t do it for me. But her laid back demeaner is refreshing to see in a room full of people willing to sell their soul for cheap liquor and one-night stands.

When Red makes it back to their table, she whispers something to the blonde that makes her tense. Neither one looks back at me as they take their shots. Someone calling out for a drink snaps my sudden infatuation in two.

A hasty look from Red tells me she won’t be waiting for me to finish my shift like she planned to.

In my short six months in Mayfield, I’ve been deemed the town Grinch from my lack of enthusiasm over the events they host for the holiday season. Despite feeble attempts to get me to join in on the fun, the only time anyone sees me is if people come to the Black Oak to get drunk, laid, or vent their frustrations like I’m part of the clergy.

Probably a good thing, because some of these people would shock even a priest.

The weekend following Thanksgiving started the initial town frenzy with its annual Christmas decorating competition. Once Black Friday was done and over with, people got crazy over the cash prize and media coverage that comes with winning. It’s why the row of businesses stretching across Main Street and Central Avenue are covered in lights, fake snow, and wreaths, with trees displayed in their windows.

Mayfield looks like Chris Cringle just barfed all over it after a bender. But I’m not the only one who doesn’t have lights strung up based on the neighbor’s house. I’ve seen a car parked out in the driveway when I leave for work at night and a dog barking from behind the fence attached to the backyard. But no human that belongs to either.

Once Chris finishes hiring more bartenders, I won’t be stuck working from three in the afternoon until two in the morning six days a week. The entire town is asleep by the time I get home at three, my mystery neighbor included.

I have theories of who they are. The car is gone from the basic nine to five job period, which means the person works fulltime. And it’s not a particularly nice car, in fact I want to hold it hostage in my garage and fix the shit out of it. It’s a mechanic’s wet dream, so I assume the owner doesn’t have a lot of money since the Nissan has rust coating the bottom and dents rutting the side.

They’re a pet person, based on the dog I hear yapping every so often. Probably patient, since my dog drives me nuts with how much she wants to go outside and play in the snow. Whether it’s a man or woman is beyond me, but based on the single car, I’m guessing it isn’t a couple. That little nugget of information interests me the most.

Something wet licks my face, pulling me out of the Guess Who mystery game. Normally, I don’t mind wakeup calls that involve warm, wet things first thing in the morning. But I never left the bar with anyone after closing last night, which means the culprit isn’t a sexy redheaded vixen, but an oversized pooch.

I try pushing Bailey’s mouth away from me and flop onto my side, but she doesn’t relent. For someone who knows she’s not supposed to be on the mattress, she finds herself up here more times than not. Then again, I never shove her off whenever she demands attention when I get home at stupid o’clock from work.

“Bails,” I groan when her cold nose burrows into my neck. Cursing, I peel my face from the pillow and adjust my eyes to the brightly lit room.

Bailey is usually good about letting me sleep in. Lately, she hasn’t been acting herself. I’ve woken up twice to vomit on the kitchen floor over the past two weeks, and she sleeps more than usual. But when I called my old vet, they told me it was just a stomach bug and not to worry since she was still eating, drinking, and using the bathroom regularly.

She nudges my neck again.

“Do you really need to go out?”

Her soft whimper is all I need to hear before I throw my blanket off and stand up reluctantly. Hissing when my bare feet touch the cold hardwood floor, I rub Bailey’s side and pull on a shirt and pair of socks.

Glancing at the time on the microwave when I follow Bailey out of the bedroom, I all but curse her name. It’s not even eight in the morning, which means I’ve only been home five hours and sleeping for less than three.

Being a dog owner with no roommates means letting her out when nature calls. I just wish nature had respect for the do not disturb sign I obviously taped to my forehead when I dragged myself inside smelling like tequila and bad decisions early in the morning.

Does that bitch care? No.

As soon as I chain Bailey up so she can do her business, I slip back inside. For it being so early in the winter season, it’s been a consistent bitter mid-twenties. The flurries we’ve gotten produced heavy, wet snow that sticks to everything and becomes a pain in the ass to clear off. Despite that, I love winter. Living in New York my whole life means being used to the bipolar fifty degrees one day and ten the next. I swear Mother Nature hits the bottle more than some of my regulars do.

Scrubbing a palm across my tired face, I scan over the truck calendar my dad gave me that hangs on the fridge. We’re supposed to be getting more help at the tavern in the next week, which means my schedule will be open to picking up more projects for what I want to be doing—jumpstarting my automotive business.

The vehicle repairs I do on the side currently take place in my garage until I can build a larger client list to apply for a business loan. It’s the only means of getting a bigger place to work out of, because the small workbench in my add-on doesn’t offer much room to get shit done.

Every day is a step closer to that dream when I’m not stuck bartending at a place barely any better than a rundown dive bar. I just need to work on gaining more people to get out of there. The clients I do have are steadily growing by word of mouth. Unlike the last garage I worked for, I don’t play games with anyone. When people see the difference between me and Todd Crenshaw, they make the shift.

It’s why I refuse to work part time in a different garage after leaving Oakland. Bartending isn’t what I want to be doing, but it’s better than working for a grade-A asshole who only cares about the money instead of getting a job done right. At least where I work now gives me time during the day to get my projects done before getting groped and bitched at.

Thoughts of the Crenshaw family makes my blood boil. Not just because of Todd’s fucked up business methods, but her. Emily. My best friend since childhood. And ex-girlfriend.

We weren’t proud of ruining a perfectly good friendship by succumbing to everyone’s belief that we’d be perfect for each other. Turns out, just because two people make good friends doesn’t mean it translates to dating. We stopped confiding in each other when we smacked a label on it and found excuses to stay out late until we were nothing more than strangers.

Instead of walking away from each other while we had the chance to mend our old friendship, we chose to settle. I thought we were both too afraid to lose each other if we decided to end it, which is why we stayed. Why I stayed. Emily didn’t think the same way.

It’s why she left a note at her brother’s garage for me to find when I came in to work nearly eight months ago. I’m sorry. That’s all it said. There was no explanation or anything else scripted on the ripped paper she tore from my billing ticket.

Todd told me Emily left town with some guy she met months before the split, which explains why she distanced herself from me leading to the breakup. Honestly, I was relieved when she ended it. I didn’t have the balls to hurt her by admitting I was miserable, so I stuck it out and busied myself with work to cope. But when she ran off and cut me out of her life, going as far as blocking my number, her name became a bitter pill to swallow.

I can deal with her moving on, even deal with her brother kicking me out of the garage I liked going to every day. But being ghosted by the only true friend I had for most my life still hit me hard. It makes me glad I got out of west bumfuck and away from the memories we built there.

Seeing Sam, the blonde look-alike, last night brought back memories I don’t want to have anymore. Moving to Mayfield and starting my own business is supposed to be my fresh start. I just hope she doesn’t become a regular.

Bailey barks at me to let her back in.

“Come on,” I call. “It’s time for bed.”

Author Bio:

Hey! I’m Barbara Celeste Doyle, although my middle name should be awkward. My life is a romantic comedy gone wrong, so I’ve become obsessed with four-legged felines and chocolate–not necessarily in that order.

My love for the written word led me to obtain a bachelor’s degree in English and soon a master’s in education to teach college classes.

As director of design for the O Spa chain, a sophisticated women’s club that is trending its way into being the Next Big Thing, Chloe’s ready to take on the world.

One baby at a time.

Her home study’s done, and she’s about to adopt, a thirty-something single mother by choice. Who needs to put her life on hold for the right guy when the right baby is waiting for her?

Besides, talk about fantasy.

The right guy?

Pfft. Right.

And then in walks Nick Grafton, with those commanding sapphire eyes and wavy blonde hair and a sophisticated mouth that only smiles for her.

He’s perfect.

But the last thing Nick wants is to start fresh with a new baby as his college-age kids fly the coop. A single father for more than fifteen years after his wife walked out on her family, Nick finally tastes freedom.

But he likes the taste of Chloe more.

* * *

Our Options Have Changed is a full-length standalone contemporary romance, the first in the On Hold series by New York Times and USA Today bestselling author Julia Kent and journalist-turned-fiction-writer Elisa Reed. It is a loose spinoff from Julia Kent’s Shopping for a Billionaire series, with cameo appearances from favorite characters.

“Chloe, I’m Nick Grafton. I handle branding for Anterdec properties. It’s critically important for a new brand like O to carry the same recognizable image throughout all locations. Can you tell us a bit more about how your design will do this while at the same time bringing in the unique atmosphere of New Orleans?”

Even seated, I can tell he’s a tall man. All the time I spend with seven-foot-tall Henry has skewed my perspective a bit, but Nick must be over six feet. His hair is thick and a little on the long side for a corporate guy, light brown with a hint of silver. I admit it: I have a total weakness for long hair. Not man buns, but a little over the collar… something to grab and maybe pull at intimate times…

Ice blue eyes.

But what really gets my attention is his dark navy blue suit. Crisp shirt. Cotton madras plaid tie. When you spend every work day surrounded by mostly naked men, a fully-dressed guy gets your attention.

Sexy. Makes you wonder what’s underneath.

Not that I’m objectifying him. Ahem.

Did he say his last name is Grafton? My turn to look closely at him. My first boyfriend—we’re talking age fifteen here—was Charlie Grafton. Not an unusual last name, though, right?

His question is easy, really. I answer, he thanks me, no one else has a question.

I signal Carrie to lower the room lights. Showtime.

“O is never ordinary,” I begin. “We’ve created another O for you, and I think it’s our most exciting space yet.” The faces around the table are mildly surprised, not expecting anything else from me.

I click a button to lower the screen and another to start the slideshow.

“This is our first gO Spa.” I flash to a picture of a full-size RV. “This vehicle could be the beginning of a fleet. In every city where O has a presence, the gO Spa can go beyond the physical location. The gO Spa can be booked for private parties and weddings. It can travel to concert venues and theaters for services to big-name performers.”

The next slide is an interior view of the gO Spa. Three small showers. A bank of four hair washing and styling stations. Small closets filled with curated professional clothing.

“But it has another important purpose. The gO Spa is how O will give back to the communities that have welcomed us and made our success possible. A way to demonstrate our commitment to the idea that peace and pleasure are vital to everyone.”

Nick Grafton is giving me his full attention. I like it. I could get used to it.

Author Bio:

New York Times and USA Today Bestselling Author Julia Kent writes romantic comedy with an edge. From billionaires to BBWs to new adult rock stars, Julia finds a sensual, goofy joy in every contemporary romance she writes. Unlike Shannon from Shopping for a Billionaire, she did not meet her husband after dropping her phone in a men’s room toilet (and he isn’t a billionaire). She lives in New England with her husband and three sons in a household where the toilet seat is never, ever, down

Elisa Reed is a journalist-turned-fiction-writer whose snappy, irreverent prose combines with an irrepressible zest for the simpler, and often intimate, pleasures of life to produce fun(ny) contemporary romance with a focus on second chances. New England born and bred, Elisa Reed now lives, writes, and plays in New Orleans and along the sugar sands of the Gulf Coast.

When Navy SEAL Brett (Tag) Taggart’s ex-love is kidnapped during her wedding—to another man—Tag joins his SEAL brethren to rescue her. The mission reveals why Sarah walked out on him two years earlier, a revelation that serves to inflame the baggage between them. This time—after the danger settles and Sarah is free, will Tag be the one to walk away?

He locked down a flinch. That even, cautious tone was another departure from the free living, expressive spirit she’d been back then.

“We need to talk,” he said, channeling that same flat monotone.

“There’s nothing to talk about.” She backed up a pace, as though she were about to slam the door in his face.

“Then you can listen.” He stuck his foot in the doorframe and locked down every ounce of emotion. “Look, I’m not here to get you back, okay? That ship sailed a long time ago. But you used to be a friend, and you’re about to make a big mistake. That’s something I can’t walk away from.”

“This isn’t your business.” The skin around her eyes tightened.

“I’m making it my business.” He forced the next words out, all too aware that the bearer of bad news was usually the one skewered and strung. “You don’t know what you’re getting into. Mitch isn’t the guy you think he is.”

“I know exactly the kind of man he is.” She contradicted him, her voice even tighter than before.

“Do you?” Tag asked grimly. “Then you know your loving fiancé is fishing at the BU and taking a new catch home every night?”

Something slipped through her eyes. But it wasn’t pain. It was more calculating than that.

“I don’t care.”

Tag rocked back on his heels. She didn’t care? That didn’t sound like the Sarah he’d known.

She must have seen the surprise on his face, because she leaned forward slightly, her voice dropping with intensity. “Look, nothing you say is going to change my mind. Nothing. Just go.”

He shook his head, disoriented. Could she really have changed that much over the course of two years? The Sarah he’d been in love with would never have put up with Mitch’s bullshit. Not if she’d known about it. The Sarah he’d loved had too much pride for that.

With a lift of his eyebrows, he cocked his head, studying her. Every freckle stood out like flecks of gold on her white face. He regrouped, frowning. There was something off here. Way off.

Author Bio:

Trish McCallan was born in Eugene, Oregon, and grew up in Washington State, where she began crafting stories at an early age. Her first books were illustrated in crayon, bound with red yarn, and sold for a nickel at her lemonade stand. Trish grew up to earn a bachelor’s degree in English literature with a concentration in creative writing from Western Washington University, taking jobs as a bookkeeper and human- resource specialist before finally quitting her day job to write full time.

Forged in Fire, the first book in her Red Hot SEALs series, came about after a marathon reading session, and a bottle of Nyquil that sparked a vivid dream. She lives today in eastern Washington. An avid animal lover, she currently shares her home with four golden retrievers, a black lab mix and two cats.

As an ambassador’s daughter, Langley Canfield has lived all over the world, but she’s never fit in—not abroad and not at home. She thought she found a man who loved her for who she is, but when it becomes obvious that she’s the only one with deep feelings, Langley breaks up with him and heads across the country for a friend’s wedding.

Blue-collar guy

Special Forces Sergeant Ryder Pienkowski knew that he’d never be able to hold on to Langley Canfield, that she was completely out of his league, but it still stuns him when she ends things between them. He’s trying to get her out of his head when her father arrives and tells Ryder there’s a death threat directed at her. Without hesitation, Ryder hops on a plane and flies out to protect Langley. She might not want him anymore, but he’s not letting anyone hurt her.

Some books don’t have much of a behind-the-scenes story, but that isn’t the case with Wicked Obsession. Here are some things that went on with this book.

Ryder and Langley weren’t supposed to be first in The Paladin League series. One of Ryder’s friends and that guy’s heroine were slated for that spot, but when my long-time writing buddy, Trish McCallan, asked if I was interested in doing connected stories, Ryder arrived.

Originally, Trish and I planned to write novellas, but both our stories expanded until they were novels. Oops! We decided to go with full books and forged onward.

As I wrote, Straight Up by Paula Abdul continually played in my head and it became the theme for this book. I’ll never be able to hear it again without thinking of Ryder and Langley.

In the first draft of Wicked Obsession, chapter 6 was the opening chapter. I needed to back up because too much happened before that point. Sometimes it’s hard to tell where to begin writing, and this was the first story I’ve tackled since I lost my mom to breast cancer. It was hard to get back in the swing of things.

My characters tell me their names—I don’t get to pick them. Ryder was straightforward and gave me his full name right away. Langley provided her first name immediately, but her last name changed multiple times over the first few chapters.

I always find pictures of my hero and heroine early in the writing process. By then I know them well enough to find a person who looks like them and that image also helps reveal things about my characters that I didn’t know at the start. With Ryder, I knew he was Polish from his surname, but I didn’t realize he was also half Italian until I found his picture.

In the series arc for The Paladin League, the hero from book 3 showed me a whole lot of attitude. I didn’t know what his problem was, and since I wasn’t working on his story yet, I didn’t try to find out. Wicked Obsession showed me why he acted the way he did.

No two books ever seem to write the same, and this one blazed its own trail. Sometimes it frustrated, but I enjoyed Ryder and Langley and I’m glad I was able to tell their story.

Author Bio:

Nationally bestselling author Patti O’Shea has won many awards for her writing and been nominated for even more. Her books have appeared on the Barnes & Noble, Waldenbooks, and Borders bestseller lists and have earned starred reviews in prestigious publications such as Publishers Weekly and Booklist.

At various points in her life, Patti O’Shea wanted to be a doctor, a pilot, an archeologist, an astronomer, a figure skater, a ballerina, an oceanographer, a marine biologist, and a photographer before she discovered writing at the age of fourteen. That’s when she knew what she really wanted to be when she grew up.

By the time she entered the University of Minnesota, she realized she’d need a practical career. She chose the School of Journalism and took classes in nearly every discipline the college offered. After graduating with a degree in Advertising Copywriting (and far more credits than she needed), she promptly went to work for Northwest Airlines—in accounting. Since then she’s moved throughout the company, working in departments like Technical Records, Tech Publications, and 757 Engineering. After the merger with Delta, her job was moved to Atlanta and Patti followed it. She works in TechOps in Maintenance Programs.

Born with a need to see everything, Patti has traveled to far off and exotic places like Papua New Guinea, Fanning Island, and the Yukon Territory in Canada. Along the way, she’s had the opportunity to experience a lot of cool things. In Alaska, she saw a humpback whale breach near the catamaran on which she sailed; she’s visited a salt mine in Austria and traveled to a lower level by sliding down a wooden rail; and she’s seen a shark fin break the water in Australia right next to the small boat she was on. She’s visited just about every one of King Ludwig’s castles in Germany; watched the cliff divers of Acapulco; and was nearly mugged in a parking lot in Los Angeles.

With her wanderlust sated, Patti finally decided to get serious about writing. She quickly discovered that her travel and her eclectic education were all training to become an author. It’s helped her to know a little bit about a lot of things since she’s had characters that have been computer geeks, army officers, private investigators, demons, thieves, and other assorted careers. She’s even managed to incorporate pieces of some of the places she’s visited into her stories.

Blurb:
Storm Thompson wants to be anywhere but Liberty Ridge. Especially since his hometown also contains his childhood nemesis, Colleen Gardner. With a young daughter and mentally ill mother to care for, he struggles to simply make ends meet. Every day, his goal of owning an organic farm slips further out of reach.

Psychiatrist Colleen Gardner has her sights set on starting a retreat to help veterans suffering from PTSD. She’s done well but her small town fundraisers just aren’t enough.

“The Great American Scavenger Hunt” TV show offers a million-dollar prize, and Colleen and Storm are selected as competitors. Both resolve to do whatever is needed to win, even using the other to get ahead. Storm and Colleen compete to fund their dreams, but their already tattered relationship becomes more strained. Only one will win the money. But will love prove the ultimate prize?

Storm placed on arm around Colleen’s waist and pulled her close. His other hand smoothed back the strands of hair on her face. She was soft and warm, and smelled as good as he remembered.

Their bodies swayed with the strong beat of the music.

“Just can’t shake loose these chains and things.” The singer’s soulful voice echoed off the walls.

Colleen swung her hips and dipped low. Her face lifted with the seductive curve of her lips.

She played with him, and at that moment, he didn’t care. He didn’t give thought to the camera man standing in the corner, recording their dance. The music had cast a spell, like a snake charmer’s flute for a cobra. He couldn’t take his gaze off Colleen and the way her body moved with his.

Her hand moved to the back of his neck and fingered the curls of his hair. “Why didn’t I see it sooner?” she whispered. Her other hand rose until it rested on his shoulder and caressed the muscles lying just beneath the thin fabric of his shirt.

“See what?” He swallowed hard.

“You…the man you’d become.”

Storm shivered under her light touch. “I may have grown up, but I can’t forget what you did the night before graduation.”

“I know.” She closed her eyes and rested her head on his chest. “I’ll never forgive myself for what happened at the party. I didn’t know they’d be so cruel. I’m sorry, Storm.”

Memories of the worst night of his life washed over him. Colleen had taken part, exploiting his teenage hormones to lure him to a private spot. Once she’d left, members of the varsity football team took care of the rest. They tied him to the tree and took turns pounding his gangly, teenage body until he passed out.

Was she aware of the true extent of what happened? That he spent all night in the cold and bleeding? The rope cut so tight into his wrists, he’d spent painful hours working to get free. Remembering the pain, he shivered. No use thinking about high school. Now, he was a grown man and a father of a wonderful girl. And he had a competition to win.

The song ended, and so did Storm’s chain of thought.

Colleen hurried toward the bar to take the envelope from the bartender’s hand.

Once he regained his focus, he followed.

Another contestant darted inside.

Darn. His pulse and pace quickened with renewed urgency. As he exited the bar, Storm ripped open the envelope.

You might be familiar with the never-ending party that is New Orleans, but this state offers another kind of wildlife. Outside the city of Lake Charles, the Gator Bayou Tour Company awaits your arrival. Hours of operation: nine am to five pm. Rent a kayak and paddle through the bayou in search of alligators. Use your digital camera to take pictures of three different alligators. Then head back to the docks to find Cajun Jim. He will provide your next clue.

He sprinted back to his vehicle and drove away, not waiting for Colleen, who couldn’t run at his speed. Putting distance between them was imperative. She’d gotten under his skin—like a tick. A pesky, annoying, dangerous, but breathtakingly beautiful tick.

Previous books in the series:

About the Author:
Laurie Winter is a true warrior of the heart. Inspired by her dreams, she creates authentic characters who overcome the odds and find true love. She keeps her life balanced with regular yoga practice and running. When not pounding the pavement or the keyboard, she’s enjoying time with her family, who are scattered between Wisconsin and Michigan. Laurie has three kids and one fantastic husband, all who inspire her to chase her dreams.

Giveaway
There is a tour wide giveaway for the book blitz of Winner Takes All. One winner will win a prize package (US Only). The prize package includes: a Tea, Books, Magic mug, a Romance Trope scented soy candle, and a $25 Amazon gift card.

Rusty Walker has spent her entire life trying to earn her tough, ranching father’s respect and approval by learning the business inside and out. But now her uncompromising parent has decreed she must marry if she wants to inherit. Worse, her husband has to be someone who can help her run the business. As if she needs it!

Williams Hill kissed Rusty in a bar in an act of temporary insanity, and lost his heart to her on the spot. Despite the complications to his own rodeo stock business, he agrees to marry the feisty red-head, hoping to woo her once they’re hitched. But she only views him with suspicion and resentment.

Can this soft-spoken Texas cowboy convince his proud wife, who’s never known unconditional love, that she is everything he wants?

Williams Hill dragged his hand over his face as he sat in his truck at a stoplight in Estes Park, Colorado. After two straight days of driving up from Texas, he was ready to reach his destination of the rodeo grounds in the small Rocky Mountain town. Flexing his shoulders to work out the kinks, he happened to glance over at the vehicle stopped next to him.

Everything in him froze… then released in a pent-up laugh.

The woman driving a shiny new black Ford truck was gorgeous with high cheekbones and pouty lips. Her long hair was pulled back in a ponytail, so he couldn’t quite make out the color, but her appearance wasn’t what had made him laugh.

She was clearly enjoying a favorite song—singing and dancing for all she was worth, without a care in the world for who might be watching. He chuckled again as she did a little shoulder shimmy. Adorable was the word that struck him, and he was strangely affected, an instant attraction coiling inside in a way that surprised him.

He wasn’t an instant attraction kind of guy.

Suddenly, she glanced toward him and stilled as she discovered her audience. Her eyes went wide and she sent him a sheepish grin. He smiled back and pretended to tip an imaginary hat. However, instead of another smile, she went cold on him, eyes hardening, lips thinning. She whipped her head around to face forward, her chin in the air, and didn’t glance his way again. She definitely didn’t start singing again. Not that she would have had much time, because the light changed a second later.

She was quick to hit the gas, faster on the draw than Will, who was still blinking at her abrupt about-face. He almost expected her windows to frost with the drop in temperature in there. A flash of bright pink on her back window caught his attention as she drove ahead of him. For the second time in a handful of minutes, Will chuckled. The sparkly sticker on the back of her truck read Silly Boys, Trucks are for Girls. Lips tipped in amusement, he shook his head.

At the next light, she went straight when he turned, which meant she probably wasn’t there for the rodeo. He gave a mental shrug. Wouldn’t be seeing her again. Probably for the best, since he was here to work.

Author Bio:

Award-winning contemporary romance author, Kadie Scott, grew up consuming books and exploring the world through her writing. She attempted to find a practical career related to her favorite pastime by earning a degree in English Rhetoric (Technical Writing). However, she swiftly discovered that writing without imagination is not nearly as fun as writing with it.

No matter the genre, she loves to write witty, feisty heroines, sexy heroes who deserve them, and a cast of lovable characters to surround them (and maybe get their own stories). She currently resides in Austin, Texas, with her own personal hero, her husband, and their two children, who are growing up way too fast.

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0 Stars: Did/could not finish.
1 Star: I did not like this book -- felt more like homework than reading for pleasure.
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